


Fuel and Fire

by lotuskasumi



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Companionable Snark, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited, Sexual Tension, Somewhere in Canon idk, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotuskasumi/pseuds/lotuskasumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This was how they were together, to each other: Drake and Flynn, fuel and fire, a curious prize with no value and untold worth – because Flynn would sooner see himself damned and possibly vivisected before he ever said it out loud. They were both the secret, eager voice that seemed to speak out from the marrow of their bones, coaxing and teasing, too true to deny."</p><p>Sour tempers and dark moods bring the two together for a nice distraction – if they can shut up long enough to make it work, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuel and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't anything important but I felt waaaay too weird calling Flynn "Harry" throughout the prose parts in this fic so uh, I just stuck with his last name. Sorry if that's weird? I dunno, I kept going back and forth on that shaz.

Frustration was the frequent fuel to all the fires that had ever raged between Nathan Drake and Harry Flynn, not to mention one of the major reasons they bothered getting together in between jobs. These particular moments, the times when the low place either man sank into felt more comfortable than it had any right to be, were one of the few instances when Flynn let himself get distracted without lending too much thought to its value. And there really wasn't much, if he had to be honest.

Flynn had once created a list of the rare, finer points of Nate's company – just on a whim, you see. Nothing more than simple curiosity. It wasn't a very flattering list, so naturally he had no problem sharing it with Nate once he could find a way to wedge it into a conversation. As luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself that very night.

After Nate finished recounting the story of the Sursock Museum down in Beirut – "Which I would have had in the bag if you hadn't ditched me," – they both lapsed into a somewhat companionable silence. Night had long since fallen in Madrid, and the combined effect of streetlamps and passing cars cast an eerie yellow glow through the room. Both men regarded each other, half their faces thrown into shadow, the other half bathed and bared in the light.

Nate breached the silence first. “You didn't have to let me stay here, you know. It's not like we parted on friendly terms.”

“That's a running theme for us, isn't it?”

“So then why did you?”

Flynn shrugged. “Because you're easy company,” he said.

Nate snorted into his beer, clearly taken aback. “I'm what?”

Flynn couldn't help but laugh at that. “You're easy. Simple. Lacking in both threat and challenge. Should I go on?”

“No, I'm pretty sure I got it, thanks.” Nate scoffed, shaking his head back and forth. “You know, you always were a charmer.”

“I've never heard any complaints.”

“You're hearing one now.”

Both men paused to share a smile before they took a final swig from their beers.

This right here, this quiet exchange with the shared smirks and the little knowing laughs, was exactly why Nate was so good to have around. He never failed to find a way to fill up a silence, especially with someone around who would needle him to talk, even if that talk was building up to an argument. It was a force of habit that Flynn could never resist, especially since it provided such amusing results. That was the only value in spending any length of time with a man like Nathan Drake behind closed doors: He was a distraction, sometimes a pleasant one, not to mention mostly amusing - although that wasn't always to his credit. His company had worth, but no price. Curious, that.

“How long were you planning on wasting my time here?”

“Not too long,” Nate said with a little shrug. “I just need a few days to cool down. Beirut took a lot out of me.”

“And yet not an inch from the waistline," Flynn jeered, looking him over. “I'm surprised. You're the only man who could go to Beirut in the dead heat of August and come back thicker.”

In truth, the only real difference to Nate's appearance was a deeper tan, which suited him rather nicely - something Flynn was not at all happy to admit. There was also the usual mixture of post-job weariness and anxiety, which hung in the air around Nate like a shroud. It was an almost imperceptible tension around the neck and chest, like he was switching back and forth from wanting to lash out and drawing the wordless, indefatigable excitement back inside. Nate was clearly happy to get some rest, and obviously in need of it, if that story about breaking four ribs and scaling rooftops with a concussion was remotely true. But there was also a gleam in his eyes that Flynn recognized, the telltale sign of wanting more than the current situation could offer. It was like a spark that would soon burst into a full fire.

That was how Flynn felt here, now, standing with Nate in the flat that was more hide out than proper living space, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. Not until he needled Nate some more, of course. He had to make sure he frustrated the other man _just enough_ before moving on to something more.

Either he was uncannily perceptive tonight or Flynn was just that lucky, because Nate continued the petty fight without a moment's pause. He reached out to nudge Flynn's side, pressing his knuckles just below his ribs. “That's pretty low,” Nate said, his mouth twisting up into a wry smile. “Even for you, I mean.”

Flynn shrugged, peeling off the label on his beer in long, jagged strips. “You’ve stooped much lower before.”

“Never said I didn't.” Nate kept his voice quiet as he answered. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression straddling the line between unbearably cocky and too goddamn _knowing_ to ignore.

After a moment, Nate set his bottle down on the table by the window. He hesitated, and then, taking the full step into sheer arrogance, he plucked the other bottle out of Flynn's hand. “You were done with this, right?” he asked, shaking it so that the dregs of the bottle sloshed back and forth.

“I won't miss it when it's gone.”

“That sounds a little too dire,” Nate chuckled, eying the other man. “It's just a beer.”

“Try not to read too much into that, yeah? Still got that concussion?” Flynn asked, reaching out to give the side of Nate's head a sharp poke.

Nate leaned away from his hand. “I already told you, that cleared up weeks ago.”

“Must have missed that.”

“Got something on your mind you wanna share?”

They moved closer as they spoke. Quietly unnerved by how easily this was all panning out, Flynn tried to think of anything else in that moment but the warm night, the shrinking space, and the way Nate was looking him over. Instead he imagined their mouths were a reel, every word they spoke taking the shape of a hook. It cast out into the silence between them, tearing it apart, drawing them in closer.

Flynn gave a little shake of his head. _Don't give the man more thought than he deserves._

Just a few steps separated them now, their progress broken by a pause,then resumed in a short shuffle. Here was the part both men hated, that dreadful war of the few spare seconds between wanting and acting was always so maddening, so ripe for embarrassment. Neither knew they both shared in this distaste.

That's when Flynn realized it wasn't the ease of Nate's company that bothered him, not in the slightest. The problem was how eager he was to keep it going, to hold onto these moments each and every time they presented themselves for the taking.

He'd have to take care of that.

Flynn's hand darted out, grabbing the scruff of Nate’s shirt in a twist of fingers that soon closed into a fist. He took another step, though it ended up more like a stumble until he was pressed up against Nate with all the force he'd been holding back. Surprisingly, Nate stood his ground as Flynn leaned in, keeping himself solid, stubborn, straight – in a manner of speaking. Their lips hovered over each other in a caress that wasn't quite a kiss, but a single word spoken would change that.

That's when Flynn noticed the curve in Nate's lips, the sharp gleam in his eyes as he looked down to measure the disappearing distance between them. That bastard, was he laughing?

Fine. Flynn could play that game, too. He let out a low breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, grazing just along the edge of Nate's own. Judging by the way Nate kept bending his head with his chin tilting forward, it was clear he was more than ready for the teasing to stop – and that he wasn't willing to be the one to do it. All the same, anticipation was weighing heavy on his eyes. They had almost slid shut now, the short bristles of his lashes sealing his bright eyes from view.

Still Flynn held back. Instead he moved his free hand over Nate’s chest, letting it curl around the back of his neck. Flynn's touch was faint and light. He skimmed over the warm patch of skin and the very base of Nate's scalp, but the touch still burned them both. As if on cue to the thought, Nate shivered, clearly enjoying the attention. Flynn laughed, breathless. Frustration was always the best fuel to make fires burn between them.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Nate finally mumbled, his voice a rasp. His mouth moved around Flynn's as he spoke, still denying the kiss. It was hard not to be impressed by that kind of stubborn resolve.

Flynn waited until the press of Nate's lips faded before he leaned in to speak again. “I just might,” he teased, the words forming a light, open-mouthed kiss.

“Like hell you are.” Nate moved his hands down Flynn's back, taking hold of his waist and pulling him close. There was a sudden, sharp click of clashing buckle clasps, but the sound was lost to the sudden hum in Flynn's ear as Nate rubbed against him. “And you were the one complaining about wasted time,” he added, grazing Flynn's cheek with his own.

The three day stubble felt like sandpaper, and Flynn was tempted to make a joke about this lapse in personal care. He filed it away for later. “Well that was before I knew you were so desperate,” he said instead, running his fingers up along the back of Nate’s neck, grinning at the way he tensed to suppress a shiver. That little sensitive spot was a glutton for affection, and Flynn had been all too happy to greet it with kisses and faint scrapes, or even softer presses of his teeth, if the position allowed for it. “Can’t really call that a waste now, can I?” he added.

Nate shivered in full as Flynn once more teased the back of his neck with another sweep of his fingers. His teeth snapped together, turning his moan into a hiss. Flynn waited, feigning a saint's patience. He knew what was coming next.

It wasn't long Nate's eyes opened, hard and fast. “Come _here_.” The words were all but a snarl, strangled and full to the brim with need.

Before Flynn could blink, Nate reached out, using both hands to frame his face and trap him in place. The kiss that followed was rough, unpolished, and nothing short of desperate. It was soon replaced by another slow, lingering caress, the kind Flynn liked the most.

 _Well that was thoughtful._ Unexpectedly so. Must be some misguided revenge tactic for playing with that spot on the back of his neck.

Flynn let go of Nate’s shirt, stepped back, and reached down. He hooked two fingers hooking into the space between the other man's belt and trousers, giving it a quick tug. Nate let out a little amused grunt and stepped forward, leading with his hips. There was no place for Flynn to go but back, first one step, and then another. Their lips met in longer kisses, their breath becoming moans becoming muffled laughs, which were caught again in an even deeper caress.

Once the haze of kisses and clutches passed, they broke off, breathing hard and taking a quick look at the damage done. Nate's belt hung open, unclasped, his trousers likewise undone - and he was rapidly approaching that point himself. Thankfully, Flynn was looking far less worse for wear. Apart from the uncomfortable tightness he had to deal with, the only damage to his appearance was his tousled hair, and naturally that was all Nate's fault. Nate's fingers had mussed his hair so that a few strands hung low over his forehead, disrupted from its usual, simple pushed back style. Something about this made Nate grin again, his smile breaking up the kiss. Flynn hated that look, hated it in a way that toed dangerously close to a kind of fondness.

Flynn clenched his teeth at the thought. Moving fast, he pulled Nate down hard as they both lowered themselves to the bed. With one hand on the back of Nate's neck again, Flynn moved the other to very base of his spine, that other little spot that turned this charming bastard into a moaning, writhing mess.

The old fires were burning bright again, and in a haze of heat and lips, of nails on skin and a flash of teeth, of the warm caress of a tongue drawing hisses out into breathless, cursing gasps, they pulled and turned and pushed again, until finally Flynn had himself where he wanted to be. He was on top, looking down, slowly grinding into the hard length between Nate's legs. He suspected that Nate was where he wanted to be: on his back, squirming at every touch and kiss and thrust, sharing wry smiles and lidded stares and bitter, half-moaned murmurs with the man who spoke to every dark thought he ever had.

This was how they were together, to each other: Drake and Flynn, fuel and fire, a curious prize with no value and untold worth – because Flynn would sooner see himself damned and possibly vivisected before he ever said it out loud. They were both the secret, eager voice that seemed to speak out from the marrow of their bones, coaxing and teasing, too true to deny.

Even so, they struggled. It was in neither man's nature to go quiet or compliant, and the lure of defiance that would not only be returned but increased, turning lust into an ache, was too great a thrill to set aside. It wouldn't always be like this, _they_ wouldn't always be like this, but they were now. It was enough.

Flynn leaned all his weight on his forearm, letting it rest on the bed just above Nate's shoulder. He watched Nate turn to press a quick kiss to the side of his wrist. It was much more gentle than Flynn had been expecting, and he couldn't help but laugh. “Don't get soft on me now,” he mused, alarmed that such a little gesture could affect him at all.

Nate grinned. “Now that,” he began, his eyes sliding shut, “will _not_ be a problem.” His sentence ended in a lazy chuckle as he thrust up to meet the hand that Flynn slipped into his boxers.

“How shameless. Not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed for you,” Flynn muttered, pressing a quick kiss to Nate's throat, his fingers already curling around to make the first stroke. “You really are making this far too easy, you know.”

“Is that a problem for you now?” Nate laughed, but he soon had to bite down on his lip to hold back another groan.

Flynn hummed appreciatively at the sound, his lips skimming over Nate's throat. “Now who's being petty?” he murmured as he quickened the pace, knowing Nate would struggle to respond.

With a grunt, Nate pulled his hands from Flynn's hips and shifted as best he could, clearly looking for some much needed room. After pressing one more kiss to Nate's neck and the straining skin around his Adam's apple, Flynn pushed himself back until he was kneeling on the bed. He grinned, watching Nate work his way out of his pants in the usual blind rush and stuttering movements.

“Need some help?” he asked as Nate gave an undignified kick, nudging his trousers away.

“If it'll knock that look off your face, sure,” Nate fired back.

Flynn _tsk_ ed beneath his breath, swatting Nate's hands away. He waited until he held the other man's gaze before giving his boxers a firm tug, letting his nails – short, shorn, perfect for causing scrapes – graze over Nate's thighs. Before Nate could wrack his brain for a clever reply, Flynn moved further down, sliding his lips over the trail of hair that led down Nate's stomach.

Nate let out a hiss almost instantly. He reached down, fingers curling in Flynn's hair, gently guiding his head further.

“If you think for a second that you'll be setting the pace –” Flynn began.

“Relax. I'm just giving my hand a nice little place to rest.” For emphasis, and to add on to this little insult, Nate gave the top of Flynn's head a quick, reassuring pat. “Go on. Don't let me stop you.”

Flynn tried very hard not to scoff. “If you pull, I bite. Got that?”

“If you bite, I'll pun –” Nate didn't get to finish before the sentence broke off into a loud curse.

Flynn kept his gaze locked onto Nate, one hand wrapped around his shaft as he pressed a light kiss to the head of his cock. Opening his mouth to flick his tongue over the tip, Flynn moved further down, resuming the pace of his earlier strokes until both his hand and mouth were working in tandem, tending to every aching inch. It didn't take Nate long to start his thrusts again, his hips lifting off the bed so he could move further into Flynn's mouth, sliding along his tongue and all but reaching the back of his throat.

After the shock had passed, Nate kept his eyes firmly closed. _As usual._  Flynn took advantage of this to file away the more endearing details of the man for another day. This, at least, would be a list he would keep to himself. Nate had a habit of biting the very corner of his lip with each moan he made, showing off a brief flash of teeth with every bite. His cheeks were deeply flushed, the dark red hue glowing bright across his tanned skin. Each time he moaned, the sound reverberated long and deep in his chest,and  he tilted his head back to bare the long expanse of his throat.

Flynn hummed again, enjoying the sight. As expected, Nate gasped at the sound and the sensation it caused, pushing his heels down hard on the bed and thrusting deeper into Flynn's mouth. This only made him hum again. The vibrations moved over Nate's skin, combining with the warm mouth and the steady, fast grip in an almost merciless thrill that left him reeling. Perhaps he wasn't quite healed from the concussion just yet.

Eager to have something to hold onto, Nate placed his other hand on Flynn's head and sank his fingers into his hair, not hard enough to pull, but just enough to keep himself steady. So they went, faster, more frantic, a back and forth struggle of who would set the pace and who would rush to overtake it.

Flynn almost grunted after Nate gave a particularly strong tug on his scalp, just a little warning that the other man would heed if he were wise. It was also something of a test; Flynn knew that the vibrations would have Nate whimpering or coming before long – or both, if he really were as keen as he seemed. He must have been, because it wasn't until he started murmuring a hurried mixture of swears and pleas did Flynn realize just _how_ close he was.

“Harry – fucking  _Christ_ , I'm --”

Flynn pulled his mouth back without a wet pop. “Not quite my name, but it'll do,” he laughed, shifting his head to kiss along Nate's tensed thighs. He slid his grip further up Nate's cock, back towards the red, swollen head that oozed with pre-cum, meeting the last of Nate's hard, harsh thrusts.

It didn't take Nate long after that. The combined pleasure of slow kisses, a warm, steady grip, and just the faintest touch of Flynn's teeth along his upper thighs sent him over the edge, fast. Nate moaned as he came, a long, helpless sound that split the silence in the room and could probably be heard by half the apartment floor. Mixed in with the moans and the curses, Flynn could swear he heard his own name. Strange, that.

Flynn couldn't hide his smile in time before the other man's eyes fluttered open. He caught sight of the unexpectedly tender expression and paused, still reeling, still waiting to come down from the pleasurable high.

“Like I said. You're too easy,” Flynn tutted as he pushed himself away. As Nate caught his breath, Flynn leaned across the bed and reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand. He passed a few along, grinning wide at the almost indignant scowl that greeted him. “Go on, then. Clean yourself up.”

“Don't see why you're only blaming me,” Nate grumbled, dabbing a tissue against his stomach. Flynn told himself not to watch, and he mostly succeeded. “Half the problem is that damn mouth of yours.”

“You have a very funny way of reacting to problems, mate,” he fired back, smoothing his hair down from the mess Nate had made of it.

“Hey, Harry?” Nate suddenly asked, his voice low.

Before Flynn could do more than turn to face him again, Nate pushed him down on his back until he was laying flat on the bed. Nate didn't waste any time before he settled on top, sliding one hand under Flynn's shirt, moving his hands across the cool, hidden skin, mixing his strokes with almost gentle, teasing scrapes. Fresh fires burned beneath that kindling touch, making Flynn shiver and arch up despite the protests in his head.

“Now who's being too easy?” Nate hissed, his mouth hovering over Flynn's ear before he leaned around for a slow, lingering kiss. That, Flynn knew, was most definitely done on purpose, and most obviously for his benefit.

Oddly enough, he didn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually written for this fandom, much less this pairing, before now. Hopefully it's not too awful. They're like an itch that won't go away; I keep thinking of more scenes with them, more things I want to write... :U Jerks.
> 
> Thanks for making it through this, Reader. I appreciate it and I hope you're having a nice day.


End file.
